


syzygy

by thekookster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bloodplay, Bottom Derek Hale, Breathplay, Comeplay, Dark Stiles, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Light Sadism, Light Somnophilia, M/M, Mentions of Kink Shaming, Self-Hatred, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:11:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekookster/pseuds/thekookster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>noun</i>; a pair of connected or corresponding things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	syzygy

**Author's Note:**

> I first got the idea for this in December 2013. Therefore, it takes place after 3A, as an alternate 3B. This is my first published fic ever, so I'm kind of nervous about it.  
> The dubcon in this plays pretty heavily at non-con, especially at the beginning of this fic, so please beware of that. Also, the somnophilia tag is a precaution, really. This entire thing also got way filthier than I planned. If you need me to add any tags, please say so.

** 1  
** It starts like this: Derek comes back to Beacon Hills.

(Actually it starts a lot earlier, starts before he ever left, before Kate Argent burnt down his life but after she entered it)

(Maybe it starts even before that, starts with Derek, nine years old, falling out of a tree and his breath catching at the feeling of the branches scratching his skin bloody on the way down, not getting up for half an hour after hitting the ground, marinating in the burn of a rapidly healing broken bone for the first time in his life. Maybe it starts with him stubbing his toe for the first time and pausing at the throb of it, but what it comes down to is— ) 

It starts like this: Derek turns the key in a creaking lock.

It starts like this: Derek opens the damn door and Stiles says “Well, _lookie_ what we have here.” (and he’s nothing like Derek expected, this is what it comes down to; this is—)

** 3  
**When Stiles’ heartbeat picks up a while later, Derek tenses. Scott hasn’t arrived yet, but he should be coming any second now, so he won’t have to— 

“Derek?”

Stiles’ voice is confused, vulnerable, and Derek pauses. As soon as he can make himself look Stiles in the eyes in the deafening silence between them, he sees the confusion morph into— into— Stiles looks _horrified_. He completely clams up, presses his knees to his chest and locks his arms around them while his breathing picks up. “Fuck— fuck, _fuck_ — Derek, sorry, fuck, what— I’m _sorry_ —“ His voice breaks and a small sob escapes him, but he tries to pick up again, his voice sounding hoarse. “I’m sorry, I don’t know— did I, _what_ did—“ He can’t seem to stop talking, babbling out half-words until Derek slowly goes to kneel next to his curled up form on the couch and puts a hand on his shoulder. Stiles abruptly stops talking, but not hyperventilating, and Derek waits until he does.  

He doesn’t look at Stiles’ face, only at the pale, bony knuckles that are clutching the bicep of Stiles’ right arm. When Scott finally arrives, he only shoots Derek a significant look and silently leads a shivering Stiles away. Signifying what, exactly, Derek doesn’t know, or want to figure out.

(Stiles had only tried to talk once after Derek put his hand on his shoulder, stuttered out “What— what did he, did he do—?”, but Derek had stiffened visibly, and Stiles had just stopped talking)

** 4  
** The next time he sees Stiles, it’s because Scott asked him to meet them at the clinic. They think there’s a kitsune roaming the streets of Beacon Hills and Derek volunteered his help. Stiles doesn’t look at him, hardly looks at anyone, mostly just nods and looks at the ground as if it could give him answers.

Scott had called, explained that the darkness in their hearts had affected all of them, but that Stiles had had an especially rough time, that the darkness sometimes tended to manifest itself as a personality. They’d been looking for a solution on the side, but— “We’ve got so many monsters to deal with, Derek, and I know that Stiles is having some trouble, but there's just so much going on.” Scott had then proceeded to assure him that the Darkness was all talk, that Stiles hadn’t actually done anything until now, just been Peter-levels of creepy. “We’ll find a way to fix this, Derek. He’s going to be fine. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?” Derek had haltingly explained that no, Stiles had not done anything to Derek, it was just as Scott had said: all talk and no follow-through. 

(it hadn’t been a lie, but Scott doesn’t need to know the details) 

 ** 6  
** “I bet your stubble leaves a nice burn,” Stiles breathes against his mouth, “I bet it gets you hot seeing it, too. Seeing red skin and remembering what it was like holding them open, making them take it, or better yet— remembering what it was like for _them_  to make _you_ take it. I bet you fucking love it, I bet you’re so sorry you heal fast, that you can’t know what it’s like sitting down a day after getting fucked and feeling that heat, feeling the ache in your ass, and it hurts so good.”

Derek wants to looks away but can’t with Stiles this close; he wants to move away but Stiles pushes against his chest just enough so his shoulder blades clash uncomfortably against the concrete wall, so his ribcage feels like it just about can’t reach that maximum volume of expansion and Derek’s mouth dries up; his breath hitches. Stiles smirks, his hand wandering up from Derek's chest to wrap around his throat while the other drifts down to put an unforgiving pressure on his dick.

“So this is how puppy likes it.” He grins cruelly, but it’s his eyes that are sharp as knives, pinning a panting Derek in place, and Derek can’t take it; he whines.

Stiles laughs.

** 2  
** So Derek turns the key in a creaking lock.

He didn’t expect to find anyone in the loft except for some stray mice squeaking a meagre welcome, so it’s a surprise when he opens the damn door and hears Stiles say “Well, _lookie_ what we have here.” It sounds like Stiles, but somehow it doesn’t look like him once Derek catches sight of him standing in the middle of the loft, right over the spot where Kali rammed a pipe right through Derek. He looks a little sharper, somehow, like the contours of his face and the lines of his body could cut him up.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” It’s strange, finding Stiles here, when Derek could’ve sworn that he took all the keys to the loft with him. 

“Just stopped by to say hi. I had a feeling something interesting was going to drop by here tonight,” Stiles smiles (—Derek’s pretty sure it’s a smile, it probably just looks weird in this light, that’s all).

“If it’s nothing urgent, I need some sleep, Stiles, so if you don’t mind…” Derek jerks his head toward the door impatiently, looks Stiles in the eyes and turns back toward the bed. He dumps his bag on it and pull out some sweat pants to sleep in, shoving the rest of the bag on the floor to deal with in the morning. He must be really tired, because he doesn’t even register Stiles coming up behind him until he feels a hand sliding into his hair, gripping it, while another winds around his middle.

Derek freezes.

“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?”

“I do mind, actually.” He yanks a bit at the fistful of Derek’s hair in his hand. "You want to sleep, right? I can knock you out real fast.”

And somehow it doesn’t sound the slightest bit like Stiles, it sounds like— sounds like Kate, and before Derek knows what he’s doing he’s shifted to his beta form and knocked Stiles to the floor.

But Stiles laughs. Opens his gaping mouth and laughs and laughs, until it sounds like a hollow, cruel sound. He laughs until he stops, until the laughing suddenly cuts off and he slumps, his heartbeat steadying out like he’s sleeping.

_What the fuck_ , Derek thinks slightly hysterically, and calls Scott.

** 5  
** Not long after the time in the clinic, Stiles is in his apartment again. Derek knows which one it is immediately, he can tell from the smooth slope of his shoulders, the sharp fluidity of his posture. He’s leaning against Derek’s desk by the far window, looking out the smudged glass at the stormy night. He gives no indication that he heard Derek come in, even though he must have. He only speaks once Derek warily takes off his jacket and slowly sits down on his couch.

“Needed a place to stay during this storm,” Stiles remarks absently.

Derek doesn’t know what to do with that. This isn’t the normal Stiles, the one that was so quiet and fearful, it’s the one that cornered him, but currently he seems to not have any ulterior motives. His scent isn’t sharpened as if he were angry or musky as if he were horny, it’s just… _dulled_ , like he’s not actually there, but left one of his older possessions at Derek’s loft.

He’s considering just picking up a book and reading until Stiles leaves, but then he remembers the weather forecast.

“The storm is supposed to last until morning. You can’t spend the night here,” Derek says.

That makes Stiles turn around slowly and smirk, slipping into that twisted persona that pulled on Derek’s hair.

“Your bed’s big enough for two, isn’t it?”

“It’s not up for negotiation. You’re going home, to the Sheriff, and leaving me alone,” Derek asserts.

He’s facing away from Stiles, making his way toward the bed, so he doesn’t notice Stiles moving until there’s an ice-cold hand sliding up his back underneath his shirt. Derek yelps and spins around, ready to knock Stiles out again so he can drive him home, but Stiles is already two paces away, hands loosely at his sides, eyes alight and grin sharp.

“I can pay for my stay,” he purrs, “that’s really all I wanted to point out.”

“No,” Derek growls, “you’re going home. I don’t want you here.”

“I suppose not. It’s really _Stiles_ you want, isn’t it,” he says slowly, still grinning that awfully sharp smile. “The other one, I mean.” Stiles’ grin drops suddenly from his face, his body crumples in on itself, and his eyes become teary. “Oh, Derek, p-please, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— D-Derek, please tell me I didn’t hurt anyone, please—!” He keeps moving slowly, shakily towards Derek, who’s frozen in place by the sudden switch to this shell-shocked, upset Stiles. Stiles is right in front of him, gripping his shirt tightly, still stuttering out “please, please”. He leans up, breath shaking out against Derek’s ear, and keeps murmuring, “please, please, oh, I need— Derek, I need—,” and Derek finds his hands balled into fists, breath coming just a little shorter. “I need to _lick up your blood in a trail down your body_ ,” Stiles breathes out, and Derek rips away from him as if electrocuted, shoving a cackling Stiles away.

“Oh you fell for that, did you? I knew you’d like it. If you want, I can pretend to be him, horny virgin and all.” Stiles tries moving toward Derek again as he says it. “Oh please, Derek, won’t you shove your fat wolf cock in me? I’ll take it so good for you, want it so bad,” he mocks, voice going high and breathy again.

“No,” Derek spits out, evading the advancing creature “Stop, stop it—“

“Oh, Derek, stop, please, stop it, it hurts!” The creature keeps mocking, its voice breathy, but its face a dark contrast of smug dominance, "You’re so big, I don’t know if I can take it— Ah!”

Derek is almost shaking, still trying to escape away, but his shoulders hit the concrete wall, and the creature wastes no time in cornering him, both hands bracketing his shoulders. And how is that even possible? When did Derek shrink up? How could something wearing Stiles’ figure physically _intimidate_ him?

The creature grins cruelly.

“I bet your stubble leaves a nice burn,” Stiles breathes against his mouth.

** 8  
** Derek was angry in the beginning. It’s so easy for the creature to overpower him, corner him, bend Derek to his will. Now, he’s starting to crave it a little, the way it reminds him of stubbing his toe for the first time and catching his breath at the sharp throb of it. He knows it isn’t a good idea to give into it, just like he knew Kate was a bad idea when her cold eyes sent a strange thrill through him. He’s all wrong and twisted, has been ever since he can remember. He’s always needed to feel spread thin and helpless and possessed in bed, and it only ever works when his partners hurt and use him. After the fire, he denied himself that feeling, rejected the idea of needing it. It didn’t last long, just until a chilly October night in New York when he let himself be dragged out of a bar by a burly, gruff man. Derek doesn’t remember his name, just what it felt like to be pinned down underneath him.

After that, he knew he’d never get rid of his craving.

** 7  
** They’re running, running from what they though was a kitsune but isn’t, in the end. It’s after-hours at the school, and they skid through the hallways, trying to leave it behind, lock it in until the morning light drives it out.

“Go!” Scott shouts, halting and turning to face the oncoming monster, “I’ll distract it. Find Lydia and hide her!”

“Scott, wait!” Stiles replies, “don’t do this, you’ve got to come with us!”

“Stiles, go!” Scott roars, and he’s transforming, Alpha eyes and fangs coming out to play. Derek grabs Stiles by the back of his shirt to drag him along until he stops his struggles and runs to catch up with him again.

“I think Scott drove it aw—,“ Stiles starts, suddenly interrupted by a loud roar from down the hall where they left Scott, and a very much non-human screech coming from the hallway _right around the corner_.

“Shit, there’s two of them,” Derek breathes. They’re cornered, caught between Scott’s fight and the second monster, and Derek’s gearing up to fight when Stiles grabs his wrist and _yanks_. 

“Stiles, what the h—“ Derek starts, silenced by a cold hand sliding over his mouth as Stiles presses him into the janitor’s closet that was, apparently, right behind them. They both tense as they hear the second creature stomping outside the closet, but it moves on, and they exhale in relief. There isn’t much space for Stiles to move away, but he does slide his hand away from Derek’s mouth, bracing it on the shelf that Derek’s leaning on instead.

“We need to find Lydia,” Derek grumbles into the dark. For a second, there’s no response, then—

“The little banshee’s already outside. There’s no rush.”

Derek recognises that dark, nonchalant voice and shivers violently, trying to push the creature away in the small closet. It doesn’t budge, only slips a thigh between his legs and presses more tightly against Derek.

“Don’t—,” he tries, “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re such a liar, Derek Hale,” it whispers against his Adams apple, cool breath rattling over Derek’s skin, leaving him feeling high-strung and sensitive. “You love this, you know that you do. Does the denial make you feel better at night?” it asks, grinding its thigh against Derek’s half-hard cock. “More dignified? Or does it just get you off more, that I can overpower you when you try to fight me?” It eases up on Derek to unbuckle their belts and unzip them, and before Derek knows what’s happening, the creature’s golden eyes are boring into his, and its hand is closing around their cocks to give them a smooth stroke.

“Ah!” Derek breathes out sharply, going limp against the shelves digging into his back. It chuckles low in its throat in response, and starts rocking against Derek, pushing in and out of its own fist. “Hn, ah, _ah_ —

Stiles— no, the creature, _the creature_ — hums, yanks Derek’s jeans and boxers down below his ass, and presses a dry finger insistently against him. Derek comes suddenly, biting his lip hard to keep from shouting, and grips the shelves so hard they creak. The creature speeds up and comes not long after, spurts of come landing on Derek’s shirt, adding to his own. They stand there for a moment, then the thing inhabiting Stiles’ body tucks itself back in and zips up. It swipes a thumb through the mess on Derek’s shirt and pops it in its mouth, savouring the taste.

“Don’t take too long,” it says offhandedly, “wouldn’t want those terrible shrieking things to come back and find you, now, would we?”

And then it steps out the door and leaves Derek covered in come with the taste of his own blood in his mouth.

** 9  
** As it turns out, Scott managed to wound one of the shrieking creatures during the fight in the school, and instead of staying to look for revenge, they luckily fled town. Apparently Allison is combing the Argent bestiary to figure out what it is, just in case they do return. In the meantime, Scott is recovering from his minor wounds and turning his attention to the darkness in his, Allison’s and Stiles’ hearts, which they were too preoccupied to deal with beforehand.

The day Derek hears about the news, the thing inside Stiles fucks him until he cries.

** 11  
** Scott comes over, determination in his eyes.

“I’m going to help him,” he says, “We’re making progress, Lydia’s looking into some Latin texts—“

Derek stays silent, doesn’t listen to the rest of it. He should give his usual advice, say that they might need to kill Stiles, but he can’t bring himself to open his mouth as much as he can’t look into Scott’s eyes right now.

Scott leaves an hour later, still earnest and hopeful, and Derek drops onto his bed and waits for cold hands to wake him.

** 10  
** Stiles comes to the loft. It’s really Stiles this time, not the creature, Derek can tell. The boy’s scent isn’t absent, like it is when the monster takes over, and when Derek walks past him, he feels a feverish heat radiating off of Stiles instead of sharp coldness.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he confesses shakily, not looking at Derek, “I just— lose time, get snippets of it in my dreams.” He pauses for a moment, fidgets. “It’s just, I got some pieces recently, they feel like shards of memory, and they— well.” He stops, glances at Derek, who’s standing at the window, arms crossed imposingly “It was, I mean, I didn’t see a face, but. I wanted to— to check. Derek, I…”

Derek reacts quickly, shuts down any suspicions and sends the boy home. It’s just too easy to lie to him.

** 12  
** He wakes groggily, not registering the cause of his awakening until a hand tightens over his mouth and a darkly intimidating voice murmurs against his ear. “Shh,” Stiles whispers, “relax. I’ll give you what you need.” That’s when Derek registers that the creature is pressed up against his back, the hand that’s not gagging him opening him up with three fingers. He moans, legs twitching apart, registering the dirty, slick sounds of those three slender fingers sliding out and back in, getting him ready for the hardness that Derek can feel against the back of his thigh. Stiles thrusts his fingers in sharply and spreads them, making Derek pant hotly behind the hand clamped tightly on his mouth. 

“You’re going to be a good boy, Derek, aren’t you,” the creature breathes against his his ear, “going to stay nice and quiet while I fuck you until you’re wet and sloppy,” he says, and Derek moans.

The creature chuckles.

“That’s what I thought,” it says, “what a needy little slut you are.”

It bears down on Derek's right side suddenly, and he’s pinned down on his stomach, his breaths constricted by Stiles’ weight crushing his torso. His ass is tilted up, still spread around Stiles’ fingers. The creature spreads its knees out, forcing Derek’s legs wider around them until it’s he’s straining to tilt his ass up, shaking a little with it. The hand around his mouth slides into his hair, gripping painfully and pushing his head further into the pillow, until he can’t catch his breath properly. He’s panting raggedly through a mouthful of pillow when the creature slips its fingers out and pushes into him achingly slowly. Derek can’t help it, he cries out at the stretch of Stiles’ blunt head, and the creature thrusts in _hard_ the rest of the way in response. Derek’s head is yanked up by the hand in his hair, neck stretched painfully back, and the creature growls against his ear. “I said to keep quiet, didn’t I?” Derek says nothing, just keeps panting with his eyes glazed over and his mind blank. He gets a hard smack on the ass for his silence, and when he fails to answer after another smack, the creature sits back little, pulling Derek back by his hair and hips until his ass is impaled on Stiles’ dick, legs still spread helplessly wide, hands dangling uselessly in front of him. The creature slides its other hand up Derek’s body, scratching bloody lines up his abs that make him twitch and twisting his nipples hard, eliciting a small cry from Derek. Finally, it grips his bared throat, constricting his windpipe. 

“What do you say when you've disobeyed me?” The creature’s voice is all dark syrup, deathly sweet and obscenely sticky. Derek can hardly breathe, and he’s shaking with need. 

“Sorry,” tumbles weakly from his lips before he can register it, “So sorry—  _ah!_  P-please—“

“That’s enough,” the creature commands, and Derek falls silent. The hands around his throat and in his hair both tighten, and the creature lifts up on its knees, letting Derek dangle uselessly for a moment, suspended by Stiles’ cock in his ass and the hand in his hair. Then the creature starts fucking him; hard, short thrusts spearing him open. Derek can’t even gasp, the hand on his throat is so tight, it’s making him dizzy—

“No, you don’t get to pass out yet,” Stiles says behind him, “I’m not done using your hole.” and then the hand leaves Derek’s throat, but he barely manages to suck in a breath before his head is yanked to the side by his hair and blunt teeth clamp down hard on the muscle between his neck and shoulder. He can feel the skin break and drops of blood run down his chest. Derek chokes out a rough sob, feeling spread thin and breakable like he hasn’t felt since, since—

“Come on, Derek,” the creature murmurs into the stinging bite mark on his shoulder, “let go, come for me, my needy little toy,” and Derek does.

He feels loose and hazy afterward, distantly feels a cold tongue licking up warm blood on his shoulder, registers icy fingertips smudging come and blood on his hips while he drops face-first into the mattress.

Stiles keeps moving, and Derek moves limply with his thrusts until he comes, leaving handprints on Derek’s hips before he pulls out.

Derek falls asleep to the feeling of Stiles’ come trickling out of his sore hole and a syrupy voice ordering him to sleep.

** 13  
** What it really comes down to is this: Derek loves waking up covered in dried blood and come. He loves the pang of humiliation when the words “slut” and “toy” slip out of the mouth that used to belong to Stiles Stilinski, loves being scratched up and bit and hurt, he loves stinging slaps and being choked. Derek Hale loves pain and submission, and he’s been taught that he’s dirt for loving it. Kate always thought he was disgusting. That he was wrong for it somehow.

To him, getting these twisted things from the monster that lives inside Stiles makes it seem right, somehow. He feels a little better when the monster takes from him, like he isn’t wrong for doing monstrous things if things if a monster is doing them to him. It feels like he could talk his way out of it and pretend to be an innocent party if things go south, and that’s a comforting thought. That’s the way it should be, right?

** 15   
** "I’m glad it’ll be over soon,” Scott says. Stiles says nothing, but he’s become sharper, somehow, in the past days. Less fearful and silent. They’re all at the vet’s office, discussing the progress on the Darkness problem. Tomorrow, they’re supposed to perform the ritual that will get rid of it. When the others start leaving, Derek considers staying to make an ingredient disappear, but Deaton probably has backups, and wouldn’t look too kindly on Derek sabotaging the whole thing again.

 ** 14  
** Allison and Lydia find a ritual against the Darkness. With Deaton’s assurance that it would drive the last of it out for good, they start rounding up the ingredients. There’s a special kind of wolfsbane that they need for it, and Derek doesn’t tell them that he has a box of it stashed in his loft. They end up importing it from France, and it delays the entire thing by three weeks. The monster thanks him by going to its knees, and Derek tries to tell himself he’s not relieved for three more weeks of this.

 ** 16  
** Derek wakes in the dead of night, inexplicably desperate, from a dream he can’t remember. All he knows is that he _needs_ , like he doesn’t usually, and he needs right _now_.

He’s running toward the Stilinski residence before he knows it, drawn to what he needs, what he’s been getting for the past months, what he’ll lose tomorrow. Scaling up the tree and slipping into Stiles’ dark room is automatic and instinctive, and he’s moving toward the figure in the bed when it hits him that if he wakes that figure, it might be Stiles and not the creature. How would he explain his presence? What could he say? Derek’s drowning in his own panic, frozen, caught between his need and his fear, when a familiar voice interrupts him.

“Well, this is a surprise,” the creature drawls, “missed me, puppy?”

Derek’s relief whooshes out of him in a harsh breath.

“I’m a little perplexed—,” it starts, but Derek moves before it can start its spiel. He drops into its lap, clutching at its shoulders, and says “please.”

The creature stays expectantly silent, hands resting on Derek’s hips, and Derek doesn’t disappoint. 

“Please,” he starts again, “I need it, I need you to h-hold me down, need you to take, please, please, please, before it’s gone—“

“That’s enough,” he hears, and it silences him, makes him slump. The command makes him let the creature pull his jacket off his arms and slide his shirt up his torso, leaving vicious little bites as more of Derek’s skin is revealed. It undresses him smoothly, taking its time to leave scratches and bites like a trail of breadcrumbs that makes a coherent map of Derek’s skin. 

There’s a pair of handcuffs on Stiles’ nightstand that he uses as a toy to fiddle around with when he gets fidgety. The creature uses them on Derek, lifts his hands from its shoulders and cuffs them together before it guides them back behind its head again, Derek’s arms resting on its shoulders. The creature doesn’t use a lot of lube when it opens him up, and it hurts, but oh, that’s exactly what Derek needs right now. One hand drifts up to tug on the werewolf’s hair, and that’s all Derek needs to slip into that beautiful space where he doesn’t have to _think_. He revels in it while the monster makes him bleed and cry and come. It keeps fucking him through it all, and Derek is limp, useless while it moves him in its lap, riding the edge of _too much_ for so long that he loses track of time, of anything but the steady slap of Stiles’ thighs against his ass.

“My loose little fucktoy,” he hears at one point, and it makes him feel calm and warm inside.

** 17  
** He wakes up in his own bed, the afternoon sun shining on his face. He startles up when he realises how late it must be, dresses hurriedly and drives to Deaton’s.

They’re already finished with the ritual, and all three of the teenagers look more relaxed than he’s seen them in a long time. Scott happily reports that everything went smoothly. The Darkness is gone.

** 19  
** “You’re sure about this?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods.

“You remember what you say when it’s too much?”

Another nod.

** 18  
** Avoiding Stiles isn’t difficult. He makes sure to keep his pack interactions to Scott, and avoids the Stilinski residence and the school. When he runs errands, he makes sure it’s during school hours. It works, for a while.

Then, one day, Derek comes home from checking on the Hale house to find Stiles standing behind his desk, facing the window. It’s eerily reminiscent of that stormy evening months ago, when the creature first lured Derek to get lost under its dominating hands. The only difference is the backdrop: then, the windows were dark, the incessant winds howling and the rain beating down. Now, Stiles is standing in a swath of light, and the room is still like an early summer morning, with no urgency or sadness tinging the silence, only an optimistic kind of expectancy.

“I need a place to stay during the storm,” Stiles says, turning, and Derek recoils like he’s been hit.

“It’s clear outside, Stiles, you can get out,” Derek says flatly, walking toward the kitchen in quick strides.

“Yeah,” he hears the boy say calmly behind him “but it’s not clear inside me.”

Derek stills, can’t move at the words, can’t turn to look at Stiles.

“See, I remember. I thought they were pieces of dreams, at first, but they kept filling out, getting clearer. I remember what the Darkness, that thing inside me— I remember what it did.”

“If you’re here to apologise—,” Derek starts stiffly.

“No, not at all,” Stiles assures. “That wasn’t me. I mean, I felt horrible and guilty, when I first realised, but then I remembered something.” He pauses, gathering courage, maybe, before he continues. “I remembered the time you came to me. When you said you needed it. The Darkness recognised that need, I think.”

Derek says nothing. He’s panicking, afraid Stiles will blame him, say the things Kate said— disgusting, wrong, horrible— 

“You really need it, don’t you? The outlet? It gets you into a good headspace, doesn’t it? I just,” he sighs, starts again. “Deaton said that even though the Darkness wasn’t us, it sparked from something inside of us. Allison was afraid to become like Kate, so she kept seeing her. Scott was afraid of losing control of his wolf and got haunted by his Alpha shadow. My Darkness was manipulative and amoral and cruel, because—,” he stops. Derek can’t help himself, he turns around to stare at Stiles, breath held in anticipation. 

“I like having control over people,” Stiles admits, “and I’m good at figuring things out about them and how to manipulate them, and I’ve always been afraid that it would get out of control if I couldn’t find an outlet or if I lost Scott.”

The breath punches out of Derek at the confession, and Stiles hurriedly continues. 

“The Darkness was all that— boiling over, I guess, but I was so scared that it would spill over as murder and torture. Instead, it found you as an outlet. And when I remembered that I did that, at first, I really lost it, because I thought I’d forced you, and I never wanted that to happen, and I understood why you wanted to avoid me. But then I remembered you seeking me out, and I just thought that maybe there was another reason that you lied to everyone about what happened and avoided me.” He looks Derek dead in the eyes, searching for an answer to the question he hasn’t asked yet. “I thought, maybe— maybe you need to be hurt like I need to make you hurt,” he finally says quietly, tensely, waiting for a reaction. “Maybe you’re ashamed of wanting to be hurt like I was for wanting to do it to you.”

“Was?” Derek croaks out.

“I’m not afraid of it any more,” Stiles replies in a hushed voice, “There are healthy outlets for it, I know that now.” 

“Healthy? You really think wanting that is healthy?”

“Maybe not, but it’s pretty common, and there are safe ways to do it,” Stiles counters, “if you’re interested in that.”

Derek stays silent for a moment, considering. Stiles was able admit all the twisted things he wanted, and there was an appeal to regularly satisfying his craving with Stiles. Could it really be all that common to want this? Did it matter whether it was? Derek remembers the feeling of being spread thin, of his mind blessedly blank, of not having to decide to want it. He knows he’ll go seeking it again, with Stiles or without him. Except— Stiles’ creature hit his needs like no one had ever managed before, and Derek knows that he’s developed a craving for its specific flavour of dominance.

“I liked—,” he starts, unsure how to phrase it. “The things it did were— good, for me.”

“All of them?” Stiles demands sharply, eyes flitting over Derek’s face.

“Yes,” he admits, face heating. “And I, I’ve. I’ve needed it regularly. For a long time.”

“So you would like to get it regularly with me?”

There’s a loaded moment before the word slips out of Derek’s mouth like a confession, like freedom. 

“Yes.”

** 20  
** They’re lying on Derek’s bed, just enjoying each other’s presence after the scene. Derek’s started learning those kind of words now. Things like ‘scene’ and ‘subspace’ and ‘safe word’. Stiles and him researched it together, and although he was ashamed and unsure at first, Derek likes that he’s growing comfortable with those words, likes that he’s growing comfortable with Stiles. Stiles, who is currently lightly tracing his fingertips up and down Derek’s back. Derek really likes it, didn’t realise that the absence of a partner afterward made him feel more unsettled and unhinged until he had Stiles. “Aftercare” pops into his mind, and that’s definitely one of his favourite words from the pool of new ones they’re learning. Stiles is continuously getting better at getting Derek to feel spread thin, and Derek is getting better at actually talking more about what he needs and likes. It’s not exactly an ordinary relationship, they’re still mostly in it because of their sexual needs, but Derek finds he actually likes Stiles as a person, too. It’s a little dysfunctional, but they’re figuring their strangely well-matched connection out together, and the werewolf finds he’s surprisingly okay with that.

It came from a stormy, tangled place, but it’s a good development. When he mentions this, Stiles corrects him. It’s a _great_ development.

 

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is thecookieoftroy. If you're interested, hit me up!


End file.
